Crystallize Another Life
by ArthurianDream
Summary: Arthur was allowed any one wish—what ever his heart desired. His eyes fluttered closed as his fingers brushed against the smooth, cool surface of the neatly carved crystalline stone once more, as his thoughts swam. Words formed in his mind before he had even realised what he wanted. 'I wish my mother hadn't died in child birth.' He was then enveloped in a bright flash of magic.
1. Prologue: Destiny Speaks

Sun beams shone in patches through the canopy of tree leaves, gracing the morning dew adorning the grass below with beams of light. The horse he was riding maintained a rhythmic pace; he focused more on that, and the rich greens and browns of the forest, than what the man clad in royal reds riding in front of him was saying. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back whilst a gust of wind caressed his hair and clothes. He let his eyes flutter open to reveal deep cerulean eyes, studying a flock of birds flying through the dawn sky and the sun painting the colours of a new day. Fallen twigs and leaves crunched beneath him as he trotted along listening to bird song; it was a pleasant enough day, except—

"_Mer_lin, do you ever _listen?" _Arthur's voice erupted beside him making him jump out of his reverie, and he couldn't help shooting a cheeky smile at Arthur's back, even though the older man couldn't see it as Merlin was trailing behind the royal prince. Arthur was in a remarkably good mood—they were doing a hobby of the prince's, of course, but he, himself, didn't want to partake in this, ah, '_hobby._'

"Sorry, Sir _Prat, _I couldn't find it in me to listen to your pratty self prattling on," Merlin weakly bantered, as the servant—oddly—wasn't in the mood to talk, only to listen. Humourously enough—_listen_, not to the Prince Regent, but to the birdsong and the buzzing bees, the water rushing in the streams and the wind whistling through the trees.

The sun was shining, the breeze was wonderful, the sky was now coloured in vibrant blues as the sun had risen during the long trot to the borders of Camelot and Essetir. A beautiful day—apart from when Arthur's 'game' ran fearfully away from him as Merlin always seemed to make far too much noise, alerting the animals—they were _hunting_. Merlin hid a scowl; he _hated _hunting. The lanky servant knew that this border patrol had been an easy excuse for the prince to take out his frustrations on tiny woodland animals.

The prince had been more and more stressed, what with his father's health declining. The King had never been known to stay in bed with a simple sickness before; Arthur wasn't _that _oblivious, he had seen through Gaius' attempts to downplay how serious the King's sickness was. Merlin smiled despite the gravity of the kingdom's situation and wiggled his fingers, feeling the magic flow through them—correction, Arthur was _quite _oblivious.

Merlin ignored Arthur's loud, exasperated sigh in favour of absent-mindedly running his fingers through his horse's coarse mane. Arthur spoke again, with an irritated tone, "I had said, stop the horses here, _Mer_lin, we continue on foot. Get my crossbow—" Merlin ran a hand over his face as the royal prat continued his spiel, "—and my bow and arrow, the game bag, skinning knives…" he droned on, listing more things Merlin would have to take off the horse's saddle bag and pile onto his back.

"Yes, your _majesty." _Merlin sneered at Arthur, cutting him off whilst hopping off of his horse quickly, albeit not gracefully.

"Oi, you're in a right tizzy. Why is that?" Arthur questioned, his brow raised at the unusually bitter manservant. Merlin sighed irritably, considering whether he should just ignore the question and grab Arthur's hunting equipment or answer him. Azure eyes flickered to expectant pale blue ones, "_Well?" _Merlin almost chuckled at Arthur's tone. The blonde had never been one for sharing feelings, but had always been one for getting what he wanted: in this case, it had to do with Merlin—and, apparently, sharing feelings.

Merlin shrugged, and opted to continue packing the sack full of hunting supplies as he began to speak. "You know," he paused, shoving the crossbow into the bag with out any sense of care for the weapon—at which Arthur winced. "You're not the only one I run around for, yeah? I'm Gaius' ward, and he _does _expect me to work for him to make up for living with him, even if I _am _his nephew."

Arthur masked his surprise at Merlin's statement. _Gaius was his uncle? I had known that Gaius was like a father figure to Merlin, but I had never thought… interesting. I suppose it would be obvious to have moved into a new city with a family member rather than a stranger with out any blood ties at all. _Arthur then noticed Merlin had stopped speaking again; as most of the arrows had fallen out of the quiver, and the lanky manservant was awkwardly cradling the quiver, trying to not let the remaining arrows spill out as well whilst stooping down to collect the separate projectiles upon the forest floor.

Arthur almost laughed at his manservant's normal clumsiness, but Merlin deliberately interrupted his urge, "_And, _I was out most of the night picking moonglow and greenwarish, the _first_ of which can only be harvested in the moonlight, else it won't have the correct healing properties, as it is, as Gaius constantly reminds me, 'imperative that you get the herbs at the correct—'"

"_Mer_lin," Arthur cut the gangly boy's babbling rant in half, "If you're going to shirk your work because you didn't get a little sleep, then maybe you should stop complaining altogether. Stop acting like such a _girl_, Merlin," Arthur taunted, giving a wolfish smile towards his manservant.

"_You're _the one who asked, I didn't realise you would feel the sudden need to regress into pratification," Merlin mumbled, having successfully placed all the arrows into the quiver and quiver onto his back along with the various other hunting supplies Arthur had asked him to bring. Arthur indignantly mouthed the last few words Merlin had uttered, all the while wondering what that meant and what had gotten his manservant in a bitter mood.

Merlin continued mumbling things under his breath—about stupid and oblivious royal dollop heads and how he really didn't get any sleep at all. Arthur pointedly ignored this, stalking ahead of his manservant, willing the skinny man to _shut up_ before he alerted the fine stag he was currently targeting.

_To tell you the truth would be to tell you I saved your ungrateful arse, _yet again_, from some farfetched magical attempt at your life from Morgause. And as we speak, Morgause is more or less pounding into Morgana's seemingly innocent head different and creative ways to strip Uther of his life or crown—or possibly both. That _and _gathering Gaius' damned special moonglow herbs that can only be harvested at moon light and at the sand bed of a lake just outside the city of Camelot—you're lucky I got you up in time, you clotpole. _

Merlin's thoughts furiously circled in his head as he absentmindedly passed a bow and an arrow to Arthur when the blonde signalled quietly for the weapon. He watched Arthur gracefully ready the bow, drawing the nock back on the string, and he turned away the moment gloved fingers let go of the fletching of the arrow. Merlin winced when he heard the sickening sound of the arrow head embedding itself into the flesh of the stag. Arthur stood up, and handed Merlin the murder weapon and made to go over to the corpse.

Suddenly there was a flash of dark green robes darting through the corner of his vision. Merlin's eyes whipped in that direction, tracking for any further movement.

Familiar magic enveloped his senses.

Merlin's head snapped back to Arthur, who hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary. The blonde was crouched down next to the stag, holding his hand out toward Merlin asking for his hunting knives and game bag. Merlin grumbled and shook himself out of his stupor, looking anywhere but the lifeless stag on the ground, its limbs in broken directions that really shouldn't be possible with its joints that would probably be painful were it alive, and glassy eyes so full of pain and fear. Merlin shoved the sheathed hunting knives into the bag, and clumsily threw it at Arthur, the bag landing just short of the blonde's outstretched hand. Arthur gave a scowl before snatching the bag and dragging it towards himself.

Merlin looked to the long-since dry river bank that marked the boundary between Essetir and Camelot to distract himself from Arthur making quick work of carving the game. The warlock-in-hiding smiled, if he continued this way past the border for a few miles he would run straight into the quaint town of Ealdor, his hometown. He wondered how his mother was faring without him, but the wonder was stopped short as a flash of dark green robes danced across the corner of his vision once more.

He looked back to Arthur to find the game already in the bag—most likely cut as clean as he could in the short amount of time that Merlin had had his back turned, and was standing curiously, staring past the game at his feet to something in the distance. Upon examining the scene in front of him further, he found that Arthur was staring at an opening to a cave.

Just within the border of Essetir, off to the side of the dried out river bed, lay a rise of rocks like a miniature cliff side—maybe only four or five feet fall—and around that, past a stretch of many green plants in a clearing, was the mouth of the cave. It wasn't obvious, nor was it hard to miss—it was simply _there_. As were the many trees, none really more noticeable than any other, not in a forest full of trees that simply _were_. If you weren't looking for the man-sized gap in the rise, it could easily be missed. What really caught Merlin's eye, though, was the soft magic coursing from the worn-out runes that had been carved just above the mouth of the cave—also easily overlooked if one were unobservant. The magic that was being emitted from the runes was weak, as if it had been placed there many years before, but Merlin could easily tell by the magic it gave off that it had been placed there by the druids.

There was another flash of the dark green hue.

Merlin jolted forwards, feeling the magic presence behind him that had been keeping only to the edges of his senses before. Turning his torso and head, he saw a hooded figure clad in dark green druidic robes. Wrinkled hands that had seen their fair share of years poked out of the large sleeves of the robes, carefully pushing back the hood that so recently covered the man's face. Merlin was met with the soft face and light green eyes that gave the hooded figure's identity away as Iseldir.

The druid chieftain smiled. "Emrys," he greeted gravely, though warmth was evident in his tone. Merlin turned to look at Arthur, but the prince was gone, the full bag of game in the prince's place. Merlin cursed softly, having almost had a panic attack before he caught the telltale Camelot colours over the Essetirian border and halfway towards the cave, oblivious to what was going on behind him.

Turning fully around towards Iseldir, Merlin gave a polite bow in acknowledgement before saying, "I should really follow him, lest he gets in trouble. I mean, he really shouldn't have crossed the border in the first place—such could be seen as an act of war towards Essetir, and who knows what kind of magic that cave holds... I should—"

"_Emrys,"_ Iseldir admonished. Merlin gave a sheepish smile to the wise druid, and nodded to him in acknowledgement, silently urging him to continue. "The cave is necessary. My ancestors placed it there for the very reason of pushing destiny forward, and I am bearing their initiative and vision forward. Without this, everything you have done will be for nought, as Arthur's vision will remain clouded by his father's hate for magic—even if he does feel guilt and remorse for the druids his father has ordered him to siege without mercy. You may return to Camelot, to your mentor; Arthur will not be back out for a while," Iseldir spoke, voice deep, raspy, and full of untold wisdom.

Merlin messed with the hem of his jacket sleeve, thoughts racing. "What if someone were to ambush him in the cave—like a mercenary or, God forbid, a group of bandits? They are everywhere! I can't just leave him here; I should really stay here and watch him..." The warlock finished his rant, looking upon Iseldir as he neared the end, speaking with enthusiasm and much emotion.

"Do not fret, Emrys, for that cave is protected by powerful magic," Iseldir said. Merlin gave a disbelieving look, not being able to pick up powerful magic around his person. The druid elder continued with a knowing tone, "Even if it doesn't _feel_ powerful. Only non-magical folk can enter, and even then they can only enter if they are pure of heart and intention."

Merlin looked pointedly at the cave, disbelieving, "A counter spell," he said simply.

"There is not a counter spell, as you would have to know the first spell in order to say the second." Iseldir said, simply.

_Not necessarily, _Merlin thought bitterly. _I don't feel comfortable leaving Arthur unprotected._

"The cave is used for ancient druid practices, and the type of protection spell is so old the counter spell has been lost, as druids teach magic to their youth through oral tradition. We do not write things down; so much knowledge in written words is too powerful. Also, the spell was not made to defend against an offensive attack; any magical or non-magical attack would be useless. Arthur will not be unprotected."

Merlin's head snapped back to Iseldir's profile as he spoke the last few lines. Merlin scowled, and looked to the ground beneath his feet, seemingly in embarrassment.

「_You were reading my thoughts._」

「_You speak loudly, Emrys. Learn to be able to control your mind. Druids rather close to us would be able to hear your thoughts being broadcast._」Merlin glanced back up at Iseldir's now amused smile. He felt smaller than the druid chieftain; the man had so much knowledge, so much wisdom.

"Again, do not fret, Emrys. Though you were born with magic, not everyone was born with the knowledge of how to control it. You have power, Emrys... you _are _power. Knowledge and wisdom are two different things—where as knowledge is plentiful, wisdom is very scarce. You do well to be worried about your other half." Iseldir smiled at Merlin once more, and as he finished speaking, all was silent.

_I have a feeling something is going to happen, _Merlin thought. _It is never so quiet, and nothing can be so calm. It is almost as if the forest itself is holding its breath in anticipation. _

「_You are correct, Emrys. Destiny is speaking._」Iseldir's reply was cut from Merlin's attention, as a powerful surge of magic shook Merlin out of his maelstrom of thoughts. Merlin's head wiped back to the cave, which was engulfed in white light, he heard whispers of a woman's voice before all he could see was white, blinding, powerful magic.

「 _Destiny is speaking._」


	2. Be Careful What You Wish For

Arthur mentally rolled his eyes as he noticed Merlin acting rather queasy around the dead stag. This was common—his manservant always had a knack for acting like a girl—but the sudden movement of green out of the corner of his eye was rather odd. He initially filed this under the regular sights of the forest, because the forest _was_, in fact, quite green. However, when he then felt a sudden, inexplicable pull towards the border of Essetir, he got to his feet and looked toward said border with conviction. Just there, in a clearing, was man-sized hole that lead into a cave. After only a moment's hesitation, he left the bag of stag parts by his feet and headed towards the cave without looking back.

When he arrived at the mouth of the cave, he unsheathed his sword. Making it to the cave had been an easy feat, but what would lie inside might not be. The opening was large enough for him to fit through, and there seemed to be only one path. There was a curious pale blue light—the only source of light in the cave—at the end of the tunnel he found himself travelling, which seemed to be origin of the pull. He let his hand trail along the rocky walls as he blindly made his way past the uneven terrain of the cave towards the centre.

The cave opened up into a perfectly circular room. Arthur could now see that the ethereal light came from the crystalline stone that was placed in the centre of the cave. He studied the smooth stone closer. The blonde pulled off his hunting gloves and hastily shoved them in his pocket after sheathing his sword.

There were words—symbols really—that marked the stone all the way around, highlighted in a teal blue that was the glowing of the large crystal itself. _Magic,_ thought Arthur, _the Old Religion, it must be. _Against his better judgment, he felt an urge to run his bare fingers across the symbols, and so he did. A woman's voice spoke to him, void of body, beautiful in tone and ethereal:

「_I am cause of no man's ire,_

_I shall give you your heart's desire._

_A wish will be fulfilled. _」

As her voice ingrained itself into his memory, he realised: he had one wish. He didn't know what compelled him to think so seriously on this. It was magic! It was certainly a hoax—a cruel trick.

He couldn't have his heart's desire.

Even so, '_a wish will be fulfilled_.' He couldn't explain his conviction, deep in his heart, that this was real. Should he choose to believe this fantasy, it wouldn't hurt to hope... to wish.

_One wish._

He was allowed any one wish—_what ever his heart desired_. He no longer questioned how this was possible. His eyes fluttered closed as his fingers brushed against the smooth, cool surface of the neatly carved crystalline stone once more, as his thoughts swam.

_Mother_, his eyes snapped open as a bright flash of light met his pale irises and a sensation washed over him of winged creatures being launched from fiery catapults in his stomach.

Words formed in his mind before he had even realised what he wanted.

_I wish my mother hadn't died in child birth._

He felt tendrils of unconsciousness pulling at him until he drifted off into a world of blissful oblivion as the white torrent of magic engulfed him.

「_And so it shall be done. _」

-x-

When his pale blue eyes met with the same darkness whether open or closed, Arthur wondered where he was. He sat up easily, reached out in front of him, and brushed against smooth crystal and engravings with fingers calloused from years of training with the knights. No longer was the stone glowing with ethereal light as it had before; there was nothing but darkness at the shallow heart of this cave.

_What was all that? Was just I hallucinating? _Carefully getting to his feet, he let the wall brace him in case he did something incredibly Merlin-like and tripped—which was quite impossible for him, mind you.

He walked carefully over the uneven terrain once more, a hand still casually resting on the side of the walls—not that he would lose his footing—to the exit of the cave. The sunlight outside shone with tell-tale signs of imminent sunset. Once out of the cave, he looked around himself, wary of an ambush. Those always seemed to happen around the border of Essetir—anywhere in the forests of Camelot, really.

Speaking of the other Kingdom, he crossed into the boundaries to get to the cave, hadn't he? That could mean trouble. He didn't want to be the cause of any tension, as the Peace Treaty between Camelot and Essetir was worn thin already, thanks to all the invasions that were waged against his country under Cenred's rule. His father hadn't really bothered getting acquainted with the new king—Lot was his name, he was fairly certain—afterwards, making it difficult for Arthur to tell what kind of man he was.

_Hopefully a forgiving one,_ Arthur thought, seeing a man patrolling the border of Camelot and Essetir nearby. He thought of ducking out of the way, but of course the other man would have already seen him. Arthur's attire stuck out like a bloody rose in a forest of uniform green.

As Arthur studied the man, he recognised him almost immediately. _Is that... Lancelot? He has given up wanting to be a knight of Camelot to be, _Arthur almost snorted, _in Essetir's service? He would be so much better training alongside me, in Camelot. If only father would allow such a thing._

In front of him did stand Lancelot, clad in royal blue knight's gear which vaguely resembled what King Cenred's knights should have worn—were they not all mercenaries, or worse, undead. Arthur idly wondered of the knights of Essetir were still as full of shite as they were before. As he further noted the detail of Lancelot's attire, he thought, _No, they must be serious now. Certainly King Lot is a different man than Cenred; else he wouldn't bother with a uniform as such. _Where a crude symbol of a snake once rested, an appropriately intricate crest of a white dragon now proudly displayed. Its tail looped and curved in what were either Celtic knots or Druid symbols; possibly both. This confused him further.

"Oi, you there," the man began, trotting closer to the blonde prince, looking as young as he was when Arthur had first laid eyes on him in the training grounds a few years back.

This was odd. Arthur knew it had been at least a good year since he had seen the other—he _must_ have aged since then. Arthur to ran a hand up over his face and into his hair; he didn't notice it before, but there was a difference up there too. Before he could check again, Lancelot was beside him. The blonde noticed he was shorter than Lancelot, more than he remembered. Arthur was sure he had gotten taller in his years of puberty.

The taller man brushed his fringe out of his eyes before continuing with his earlier statement, "What are you doing near these parts? You shouldn't be—oh." Lancelot paused a moment to observe the other young man's regal posture and crimson raiment emblazoned with a gold dragon crest. "You must be Prince Arthur!" Lancelot smiled and executed a respectful bow. Arthur hid his surprise that Lancelot showed no recognition whatsoever towards him behind a pompous snort. "The Lady Morgana had told me you like to wonder off without the knights. Said she, you feel like a hound on a leash, yeah?"

Arthur let his eyes wander to Lancelot's face, before answering, "She said that, did she?" Arthur almost winced at how boyish he sounded. That, most definitely, was _not_ a voice of a man well through puberty. No, it was the voice of a boy—young man at best. Maybe he hadn't hallucinated after all in that cave. Wait... why would he be younger? Arthur carefully masked his discomfiture at his reverted voice, clearing his throat and addressing the knight with his trademark I'm-a-Royal tone, "You oughtn't to listen to her; she doesn't know a thing of what I feel."

The Lady Morgana—could it be that she was... back to her old self now? His Lady Morgana, the sweet, empathic, do-what's-right-and-damn-the-consequences, sisterly—in heart and in reality!—girl whom he had missed... was back? He mentally frowned. In the last few months, she had grown cold and distant towards him, always feeding him father forced smiles. He let a smile touch his lips at the thought of his sister being back to the way he had known her, but the taller must had mistaken it for a smirk, as Lancelot did nothing to hide a snort.

"She was also careful to warn me, when I did meet you, to be wary of '_The most arrogant two-arsed nobleman you'll ever meet._' Ah, her words, not mine."

At this, Arthur raised a noble brow, drawling, "Right then." Yes, this was definitely the old Morgana. He had nearly forgotten the cheeky, teasing, beloved and utterly annoying side of her.

Lancelot cleared his throat awkwardly and let his chocolate eyes wander to the cave that Arthur had so recently exited. "As I was saying, you shouldn't be here; this cave is held sacred to Druid practices." Lancelot scanned the skies as he continued speaking. "There were also tales of a rampant griffin near the border to Camelot. I would advise caution when travelling this area for the time being."

The griffin—wasn't that the reason he and Lancelot had met in the first place? Lancelot had been tracking a griffin, and Merlin was almost eaten by the—heaven help him, _where was Merlin?!_

He furtively but frantically cast his eyes around the forest, looking for any sign of Merlin; usually the gangly manservant-turned-friend was within arms reach of him. Ever since he had set foot in the cave, he had forgotten everything else, all his focus on the curiosity pulling him to the centre of the cave full of ethereal lights. Forgetting Merlin—_how_ could he forget _Merlin_? The idiot couldn't keep himself upright on a normal day, much less a day where he had left him bare in the bandit infested woods, alone! Where was he, here? Where was _here_ exactly, anyway?

"—sire?" Arthur jolted out of his reverie when Lancelot's querying tone finally reached him.

"Excuse me?"

"I said, shall we go, sire?"

Arthur's gaze fell upon Lancelot once more, and waited. His pride would not allow him to do anything which may cause him to appear foolish, such as asking, _'Go where_?'

Lancelot wisely ignored the prince's confusion and spoke with deference, "I had suggested that we should travel to the closest Druid encampment for the night, and set out for the castle walls by morning. You know how your father and my King are; thick as thieves, I say. I would also like to question the druid chieftain about the whereabouts of the griffin before we make it to the feast."

Arthur refused to let confusion show on his face and simply gave an affirmative grunt.

"It's close by, not a long walk at all. Come, let us go," Lancelot looked to Arthur and nodded once, before setting off. Arthur followed closely behind.

_We were willingly seeking out the Druids for shelter for the night? But seeking out the druids as well as my father and the king of Essetir being as—as thick as thieves? This is more than odd, this has to be insane! Feasts were common courtesy for one royal family visiting another, but for what reason would Uther _ever_ want to visit Lot? It must be a different ruler here. _Arthur knew the ban on magic didn't have such a strong hold on Essetir as it did Camelot, thanks to Cenred, but he didn't think magic would be accepted easily so close to the border of his homeland. Was there a ban on magic at all?

_I wish my mother hadn't died in child birth._

_And so it shall be done._

That _had_ happened. The pain of his mother's death had caused Uther to instate the ban on magic. The High Priestess Nimueh had traded his mother's life in order to give birth to an heir: to him. _A life for a life_, she had said.

After meeting Morgause and discovering the truth about his birth, he had spent some time digging in Camelot's vaults, curious about the members of the court before The Purge. He discovered that Nimueh, along with many others of varying magical natures, had been _part_ of the court's advisers. She had even been a close friend of his mother's, from what he had overheard from Gaius from the elder's tales of his younger years. At that time, Gaius was still court physician—using herbs _and_ magic—and adviser regarding magical creatures, but he was considered something of Camelot's second court sorcerer… the first being Nimueh herself.

Uther was no fool, he was warned that a life would be taken—but he didn't want to believe it would be his lovely wife. He let his despair blind him to the truth. He blamed Nimueh and he blamed magic itself.

Morgause had told the truth about his birth. Arthur had realised this after... he had nearly killed his father because of it. The sympathetic looks that Gaius sent his way, and the way Merlin hid his emotions from him a week or so thereafter didn't help his suspicions.

If not my mother, then… who—_who?!_—died for me in this time? Had anyone died for my birth at all? _I feel as if I am off my trolley, I _must _be dreaming. There is no way this is real—magic caused it. There isn't any plausible way my mother could be alive simply because I wished it so. The only explanation is, I blacked out after the crystal in the cave spoke—no, it didn't speak, I was merely hallucinating—and Lancelot, after being banned from Camelot, was knighted in Essetir. It was far too obvious that Essetir had no regard for who fought their battles. Cenred's army was, in fact, made of nothing but mercenaries—soldiers who fought for gold and not glory or honour. A man without noble blood wouldn't faze them at all._

"Up ahead, sire," Lancelot's voice sounded from in front of him.

Arthur grimaced with distaste. _I'm not going to get used to him being so formal with me. Has he truly not met me yet—or, uh, here—in this dream?_

The two men approached the edge of the forest, which opened onto a large clearing. They now walked upon a well-worn dirt path, no paved roads to disturb the natural flow. Looking further into the clearing, Arthur spied an enormous structure. He wondered why he hadn't noticed it before; he must have been too deep in thought. A fort, of sorts, took up the area formerly occupied where he knew a sprawling, colourful array of tents would have been. Logs from different sorts of trees, their tops sharpened to points, jutted vertically from the soft ground of the clearing, packed side by side. As he got closer, he noticed more runes on the gate of the encampment, not unlike the ones he had seen in the cave.

Arthur asked, "What are those then; some kind of weird curses?" His tone was slightly mocking and he was obviously teasing the other knight, but he wouldn't put it past magic users to have put runes on an encampment for the sole purpose of cursing all who entered.

Lancelot smiled, and tapped his fingers over the runes. "Protection charms," the knight corrected, giving a cheeky smile over his shoulder. "I know some kingdoms aren't as magic savvy as we are, but I'd at least expect you to know a simple protection charm when you see one, _sire_." Backing up a few paces, Lancelot waved at the top of the gate. There must have been someone there because the gate quickly rose, creating a gap big enough for them to enter.

It was then Arthur realised that the only way the gate would have been drawn up so quickly was because of magic. Passing under the gate he noticed that the logs were sharply pointed on both sides—which only added to his nervousness—not that Arthur Pendragon was ever nervous, mind you. Maybe the Druids weren't as peaceful in this time—this dream state he was in. That would be unsettling, as this _unreal _place was becoming far too surreal for his liking.

_Magic_ is unsettling. Dangerous. _Evil. It has to be, there isn't another explanation for this—this cruel joke it's trying to pull. My mother died because of magic—because of me. It was all because my father was a selfish bastard—only wanted an heir, didn't care who lost their life unless it took away from him. But it was still _magic _that caused the whole ordeal. _

Once they entered, his thoughts and view were both blocked by a muscular torso: the man was clad in a sleeveless version of the uniform Lancelot wore. The man's muscles looked like they had been sculpted from granite.

Lancelot cheerfully greeted the torso, "Percival, how have you been?" Arthur's gaze snapped to the sleeveless man's face. _It IS Percival!_ He hid a chuckle, glancing at the modification to the uniform, musing, _I should have known. _

Arthur had met Percival briefly when they were on the secret—by _secret_ he meant only his father didn't know about it—quest to save Guinevere from her captives, who mistook her for the Lady Morgana. Arthur smiled at the thought and glanced over at Lancelot, remembering how he and Guinevere had gotten on. He wondered if the two had met in this odd place, and if they were attracted to each other here, too. Arthur hid a soft chuckle and looked expectantly at Lancelot, wondering if he was going to introduce him to the sleeveless knight.

"Ah, yes, forgive my manners, sire. This is Percival—he's stationed at the Druid camp for their protection." Lancelot flashed a smile to the prince, "Not that they need it, but the king wouldn't hear of any sort of refusal. Come to think of it—the only reason that Iseldir was open to the idea of having a knight as a guard staying with them was because Percival's family has close ties to the Druids and their customs." Turning to the muscle man, Lancelot added, "Isn't that so?"

Percival gave a nod in affirmation and threw a coy smile in Lancelot's direction before appraising Arthur. Seeming to have found nothing hostile in Arthur's stance, Percival gave an approving nod before stepping out of the young prince's way.

Arthur got his first full view of the camp. Children ran around a bonfire of reds and oranges, and here were the many colourful tents he recalled, scattered around the encampment grounds. The atmosphere seemed to tingle with energy and peace—smiles and laughter rang out from the children at play. To his left lay a well, where a blonde woman was fetching water while simultaneously fussing over a young boy in a teal cloak. He felt a sense of familiarity wash over him while looking at the Druid boy—had he met the boy before? He knew it wasn't from one of the raids his father had ordered. He felt a sense of pride when he looked at the boy, though he couldn't recall why. He wouldn't have felt this pride triggered by a young boy he had been told to kill, _surely_. He couldn't resolve his blank memory for the life of him; it would most likely bother him for the rest of his stay here.

Lancelot walked ahead, after giving Percival a one armed hug. The dark haired knight turned, noticing that Arthur had stopped following him when they had reached just inside the entrance of the encampment, as the blonde prince was immersed in taking in his surroundings. Lancelot cleared his throat loudly, gaining Arthur's attention with eyebrows raised in question.

"Let us speak with Iseldir about sleeping arrangements," Lancelot said, beckoning Arthur to follow him.

Arthur fell into pace behind Lancelot and asked, "Who is Iseldir?" Instead of answering the question, Lancelot stopped walking as he made it to a large forest green tent that was in the centre of the encampment, and gestured towards the opening. Arthur frowned, as his question was not answered, but he pushed through the tent flaps anyway with Lancelot in tow.

"Young Pendragon," a voice greeted him. Arthur looked around in the tent. There was little clutter, and every thing was in its place. There was a bookshelf to one side that held many books and trinkets that he presumed were of a magical nature. To one side of the tent lay a small table in one corner with a neat triskelion carved in the centre, a sleeping mat near the back edge of the tent, and what looked to be an alchemist's table in the other corner. The floor was adorned with expertly woven rugs.

He then noticed a man clad in an oddly _familiar_ pair of dark green robes holding a mortar and pestle and was leaning over the alchemist's table. There were potions and concoctions bubbling happily upon the table and candlelight swayed curiously from the centre of the poles that were stabilizing the tent.

"I am Iseldir, Druid Chieftain." Iseldir gave a knowing smile as Arthur's pale blue eyes met his soft green hue. Iseldir then turned to Lancelot. "You are to ask if you can stay the night, Ser Lancelot, and the answer is always yes, as I have told you before. A friend to Emrys is always welcome here." Iseldir set down the mortar and pestle. "You are heading to the castle in the morning." Arthur thought it was also curious for a question to be said like a statement as Lancelot gave a nod. "_Do_ have the message passed along to Gaius that I greatly appreciate our mutually beneficial exchange of herbs common to each of our lands. I pray he is well," Iseldir told Lancelot, and proceeded to walk out of the tent.

The dark haired knight followed Iseldir, and Arthur figured that was enough invitation to do the same. "There is a well close to the entrance and our training grounds are in a separate section. There are many gates leading into the forest and the rest of the town, but there are mostly tents for the druid community here," Iseldir explained, for Arthur's benefit. The druid chieftain turned to Lancelot, "Please tell Emrys we expect to be visited by him in the near future."

"Of course," Lancelot gave a genuine smile at the mentioned name. Arthur, however, felt lost. _Who is Emrys, then? He seems quite the topic of conversation here. Would he be another druid leader? _

"Emrys?" Arthur asked, intrigued on the weight of the name when the druid chieftain spoke of it.

_Emrys-s-s... _A waterfall of whispers rushed by from the Druids as Arthur asked this question. He wasn't sure if the echo and sprinkling of whispers were all in his head or not.

「_Emrys…_」The name was repeated many more times, as if chanting an important mantra or prayer.

"To the non-magical people of the Kingdom, he is known as the Prince of The Land. To us, he is known as the Lord Emrys," Iseldir explained. The name echoed around the encampment once more, the whispers bouncing off of the few trees in sight. Looking around, Arthur realized that their trio had drawn a small crowd.

Arthur opened his mouth to speak, once more, but a druid girl ran out from the crowd and stumbled into him. She murmured a quick apology towards the blonde prince, but her attention was far from him. She gave an awed smile to her tribe leader and Lancelot. "Mum has told me stories," she began excitedly, "about Emrys." As if on cue, the name was whispered around once more, like a word of power. If by the Druids, Arthur couldn't tell. The swirling soft voices seemed to be coming from the forest itself.

Arthur allowed his gaze roam over the girl. She seemed to be entering early adolescence, with dark wisps of brown hair framing her face and deep brown, doe-like eyes. The young lass had an almost innocent air about her; he knew she must be a very likeable girl by the fond looks she gained from Lancelot, and Percival—who had quietly come to stand beside the dark haired knight.

"Do you want to hear them, Ser?" At this, Arthur realised that the girl was directing her attention towards him, and not Lancelot who stood beside him. Arthur was taken slightly aback, these _stories _were likely magical—being told by a druid—he wasn't sure if he wanted to hear them.

-x-

_I thought it might be best to clear some things up: I have this fic set towards the end of season three. _

_And, of course, I changed a few things, as Arthur didn't meet Percival so soon, and Lancelot gave Gwen up for Arthur and all of _that _jazz, as well as Morgana not being_ fully _evil, just mislead_._ (:_

_Prepare for a long one next chapter! And thank you for all who have followed and reviewed, you're all so sweet. Cheers!_


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